


The Red Mask

by worldwidecupcake



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, Heroes & Heroines, M/M, Spain, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-04-22 23:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldwidecupcake/pseuds/worldwidecupcake
Summary: In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE





	1. Prolouge I

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, what a surprise, posting a new story…and it’s not gerita! (There will be gerita though, of course!) Yes! Hello! This is my true entrance into the spamano world! A pairing that is easily one of my favorites in the fandom. I always write about it to the side of my stories, but now they get the chance to shine in their own. This story in my mind has been quite exciting and I can’t wait to for you to join me in this new adventure as I write and put it up. Part of it was actually writing in Spain and my experience there helped to fuel it. Despite it being set so in the past, let me say that once again, the research I did was little and many things can be very inaccurate. If it offends or annoys you, I am extremely sorry. I am willing to listen and change, so please message if I can fix something to better represent the times.
> 
> This story will be slightly different in the aspect that there will be some more darker themes. Hopefully they won’t be too intense. I still like to keep things light and bright. I will give the appropriate warnings in the notes before each chapter.
> 
> Speaking of warnings, this story has a draft page where pretty much two or three more chapters are done. I have this rule that once this document reaches 20k words, I start posting. Once it’s all posted, the story will have to go on a hiatus until I fill it up to 20k again. In the past, stories done in this form, I would have an exact schedule as to when I would post, but since I am extremely busy and sometimes just editing might take me several weeks, I cannot assure a specific time to post. I will simply post once I finish editing the next coming chapters. I apologize already for the time it will take. But be assured! I will post! I will write and edit when I can and the chapters will come EVENTUALLY!
> 
> As for the length of this story…I’m estimating perhaps 70-80k, but we’ll see as the story goes along. Yes, it will be deliciously long.
> 
> As for the beginning, I will be posting prologues that detail the backstory of how ‘The Red Mask’ started, so no, sadly, no delicious spamano interaction…for now ;) 
> 
> Warning that there is mention of rape in this chapter.

No games, no toys, no dim candle light, no stories, no warm embrace, no soothing lulling voice taking him to sleep. He couldn’t let himself that old luxury when he had to watch, to see hidden between the dark shadows of the mansion already succumbed into the late night. Not a stirring, not a presence, the only one being the exchange in the room the little boy was currently watching from afar. The door was only slightly ajar, bringing a small streak of light to the hall, reminding of the actions, of business still needed to be done. From this distance, the boy could hear but only small mummers, unclear, lost, a brightening that he dared to reach by taking easy steps forward, down the stairs, down the halls, until it could be easy enough for his small hands to create a disrupting shadow into the singular ray of light. He leaned whatever he could to spot clear the figure of a woman, one with his same dark brown curls, the same shine of his green eyes, even the shape of his nose and mouth. She stood proudly before the male she was talking to, nothing wrong with her servant uniform, the proud red sash wrapped around her neck proudly, bearing her expression of obedience and loyalty to the words of this man. 

“-the windows, the doors, watered the flowers of the entrance,” he tested. 

“Yes sir,” she nodded. 

“The laundry, the chickens, the baths, the pathways, the grass,” he kept on. 

“Completed.” Nothing in her figure showed the opposite, her uniform doing well to hide the bruises, the dirt, the labor. 

“Very well then, and are you aware of your duties for tomorrow?” 

The little boy could feel the strain for his mother. 

“The tapestries, reorganize the vases, fix the pillars, care for the flowers of the garden, prepare the letters for the next ball and waiting at dinner for your important visit,” she assured, she knew, she was already preparing herself for the pain, strains and tiring energy that would leave her faint once she reached back to her bed…if she ever did. 

“Perfect. You never disappointment me, Ms. Carriedo.” The movement of a chair, steps, closing in, a sign that was enough to bring the little boy to dread, trying hard to hide his groan and the new coming tears. 

A hand closing in, on the buttoning of her uniform, a closeness to the red sash on her neck. A harsh grasp, hers, on his wrist, holding anymore touches to the prized fabric. 

“Don’t touch it,” she warned harshly, always strength to be disobedient when it came to it, despite the glares, despite the slap, the kick, her fall, her hands coming to protect it in the palm of her hands. 

“I’ll touch whatever I wish to. Have you forgotten that I own you, that you’re purpose here is for my pleasing?” He kneeled to her, testing her yet again, trying to grasp that red handkerchief and yet she kept it close, tight, no color to show him, no softness, no walls to the castle this item brought her. She enclosed herself around it how she could, even if she had to look away, if she had to anger him, if it brought her other kicks and even spits. 

“Very well, once again I have to remind you.” A throw, a push, a pull, an unbuckling, the little boy couldn’t take it any longer, not caring if his steps and labored breaths could be heard as he hurried up the stairs, down the halls, to their room, crashing into the safeguard of their bed, by the window, showing a beautiful starry night that his mother could have used for the beginning of a new tale. Tonight they didn’t hold that escape, that relief as they always did, their stories of adventure and heroism weren’t loud enough, didn’t extend a hand to dry the tears that fell down his cheek, coating the pillow he wished could sunk him down to the worlds of knights, faithful lovers and adventures away from the pains of this mansion. 

Somehow he found rest with such a storm lingering, yet weak, for when he heard her entering, the crash of the door, he startled himself immediately, to meet her as weakened as she usually came into the room, with ripped clothing, new bruises, new blood, new tears and her figure slumping slightly more. When her eyes fell on those of her son, of her same green, she managed to pull a smile as if all that was surrounding her didn’t hold the same potency anymore. 

“Antonio,” she wiped what she could in an easy rub of her hands. “What are you doing awake, querido? Come on, let’s go to sleep,” she managed to insist, to prepare their bed as she usually did, patted, warm and with the best fabric that she was given. 

As Antonio sat on that spot, waiting for her join, she changed into her night dress, the only item kept being the red handkerchief, still safe, still untouched by the devils who owned this place. She joined her little son, the red handkerchief like another pillow to rest between them, Antonio hugging it, as well as his mother with all the tightness and love they have poured over his life of only five years. She brought him close to her chest, her hands threading through his brown locks, enough to forget, enough to smile and for once find calm for a coming rest. 

“Do you still want to hear a story?” She suggested, knowing how eagerly Antonio would nod even in his tiredness, even after what he saw, but nothing could beat the tales, nothing could beat this chance of adventure and difference. 

“What would you prefer? The story of the Viking archer? Or of the skilled sword handling Spaniard with the red mask?” 

“The red mask one!” How he loved it. 

She chuckled, “very well then.” 

And there she went, the feat of tonight being how he saved the damsel from her wicked father who had caused calamity in the city, in amazing detailed fights that only his mother could alight in just the right action to bring suspense to the little boy. In the end, he saved the woman he made his lover and settled off into a sunset of promise, just the right touch to end a proper night with proper dreams. 

 

He shouted, he jumped, he slashed his old metal sword all around the fabrics that swayed in the new air, weakened movements that made his mother laugh from the distance as she hanged all the sheets around the wires for their drying. 

“Antonio! Remember your stance! Stance!” She reminded and Antonio made sure to keep it to consideration as he went on with his practicing, yet it still failed, he still missed movements and twirls that would make him trip or even let his old trusty sword fall. 

She had to step in and help. 

“Antonio, come, look at me.” She picked up her own sword from the pile her son had brought along with the basket of sheets. It was much glorious, shinning, with an artistic handle that had Antonio aweing instead of fearing. She skillfully moved the sword around her, for grace and for battle, Antonio spectating with shine and admiration. 

She presented the point of the sword before him, inches from his nose, his eyes hypnotized by the reflection of the sun on it, then her proud smile. 

“What did I say?” She chuckled. 

Antonio laughed as he brought his own sword, taking her very same stance, the old ruin thing he used as his weapon taking the very same levelling forward. 

“Very well, again, look at me and repeat.” 

She moved and he followed. Her footwork, her spins, her slashes, hearing her advices, her tricks, her teachings until he was ready for a practiced combat. With shouts, with meets that resounded well across the field and hill they fought, the woman saw that her son had bettered in his defense, in the proper holdings, not for a single moment letting his sword fall, slowly growing harsher stabs that actually made her worry that she would lose sight of as she taught. Luckily, she defended well herself and could take whatever forwards, whatever sudden surprises that made her prideful. 

Only seven years old and her son was the sword prodigy she had once been herself. 

Any smiles, any laughs, any learning was harshly interrupted by shouts, of many men, of coming footsteps that they both knew they had to stop at before it came any closer. They hid the swords at the bottom of the basket, the woman placing a protective cover to keep it more hidden, busying herself instead with the hanging as if it had been her sole duty for the whole day. Antonio sat by the hill and pretended to distract himself with a patch of blooming daisies, his eyes catching the commotion that had interrupted their moment. 

It was Mr. Montaje, the owner of the mansion his mother worked for, the hated man that made Antonio grasp harshly to the ground he sat upon, that brought shivers up his mother’s spine, trying to focus on only the sheets swaying before her, on their softness, on their colors, nothing, nothing else. 

“The routine was well explained, I have no need to repeat myself,” he shouted to all the men that followed behind him, all appropriately dressed in their white gears, paddings and swords hanging in their gloved hands, as straight, as strained as they pretended on acting like the statues that decorated the gardens. 

The only two allowed freedom was Mr. Montaje, who walked through every file, inspecting, while also strutting his own uniform, his power, command, even joy to take control of this group of men. The other was Keron Montaje, his oldest son, the heir, a boy of pale features but with intense dark hair, eyes and even personality, with the very cockiness his father wore. Only ten years old and he was already commanding, shouting and even hitting some of the men as he tested their perseverance to remain still as they were. Mr. Montaje laughed as if it was some childish game, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close to utter words of pride that only gave more bounce to the boy to continue as he wanted. Antonio glared, with memories of pushes, of laughs, of points and misery. All he could do was accept this field of tyranny that was his household. 

How unfair, how underserving. 

Keron took a frontal position, before all the men, as he considered himself to be, above whatever importance they might think they have. His father led, raising his own sword, shouting commands and thus every pair was formed, even Keron finding his partner and instantly all began their combat, their training, a show for Antonio to spectate. For their cruelty, him and his mother admitted that they did have impressive knowledge in the sport, to what they could add, to what they could learn from, watching and later in the night finding time to practice these very new techniques. 

 

Even at twelve years old, Antonio would find his time for that hill, for the continuing practices that happened before him, already calculating and omitting attacks on his mind as it went on. 

Keron had improved, his slashes harsh, unmerciful, it was common occurrence for him to draw blood out of his opponents, continuing on without a care of their shouts, strains and cries for care. Joaquina was in charge of dealing with their treatment and bandaging, as always, hiding her complains, ignorant to their demands as she tried her best. 

The household finding Antonio old enough, by now had forced him into the scheduling and working, but the young boy, no matter what the papers said, always stood by his mother’s side, to lessen whatever new loads Mr. Montaje placed newly on his mother. 

Every night, every escapade into their room, still ended with her having the same bruises, the same rip of her clothes, the same destroy in her eyes that Antonio tried to smooth away with his embraces and the kisses he laid on her head. 

As the years continued, Antonio feared it wasn’t working its relieve, his mother only continued to arrive worst, a spark dying each day that only Antonio resurrected with stories and with their occasional sword practice. 

On his laundry work, Antonio fifteen by this time, he caught the excitement about a swordsmanship tournament, the household calling Keron the sure championship to bring honor to the family, a sureness that he already strutted the halls with, as if he had already gotten his prize. It annoyed Antonio immensely, new furies igniting as he folded the fine pristine shirts of the members of this family, thinking that they were all underserving of this forced treatment he had to give them, all because of a stupid family accord that forced him and his mother there. If only they had-…a pamphlet then fell on the basket, announcing the very tournament the entire household was talking about. It listed the tournaments’ name, how it was one of the region’s most prestige competitions, approved by the very King and Queen of Spain, inviting all to participate, going on with all different kinds of honors, badges and seals that could be given to the winner, including an incredible price of two thousand reales. He took it, he ran over to his mother, exciting her in the prospect. 

“No,” she instantly denied, putting the pamphlet away. 

“But you’d easily win!” 

“Your belief in me is endearing, Antonio, but I cannot possibly risk ourselves by going against Mr. Montaje like this.” 

“But it says that everyone can participate. He has to let you!” 

“And risk us getting scolded, or worst, killed? He still has that power over us.” 

“Exactly, so you have to prove to him that he doesn’t, by showing that you’re better than whatever second hand swordsman he has here.” Antonio was confident, mad of such doubts, that these spoiled brats could get away with such honors ignorant of those who truly deserved it, chained to their shadows and meaning to forget them from whatever freedom and chances they could be granted. 

“With this money, we could leave this mansion once and for all!” 

“Even if I wanted to, he doesn’t let me out of the gates of the land, much less to participate on a tournament that can set me free from him as well as embarrass his family if I do manage to get far. How do you expect me to do this?” She seemed to challenge and oh was Antonio glad to take it. He grinned as his head went clearly through her tales, especially one of a figure which famously donned a red mask. He could picture the fabric on her face, along with a beautiful red uniform to go along with the moves that would surely prove regal than whatever master would fight there. 

“You don’t have to go as yourself,” he began to suggest, easing the idea. Joaquina raised an eye, questioning, following her son’s eyes to their treasured red fabric on their shared desk. 

It said enough, it detailed and seemed to tell the tales aloud for both to hear. 

“Are you saying…?” 

“Yes!” Antonio excited and to his surprise his mother returned the suggestion with a grin, a wink and thus that moment an idea began to take life. 

 

It was more crowded than both had expected, a center ring presented surrounded with groups of all kinds witnessing and spectating the battles. They shouted, they made clear either their distaste or wonder, seeing as many lost or as others came victorious, moving ahead in the chart that the committee had presented for all to see. Antonio, well covered by a darkened cloak his mother gave him, joined along in those jumps and screams, pointing out quite honestly those he liked…other than his mother. 

It was the last of the first round matches, many quite excited over a mysterious player that was to join, whispers already arising and Antonio smirking. 

Santiago Villalobos was called to fight, entering the arena with the usual cockiness all players took, raising his sword and earning a new roar from all. The noise was much that it did well to dull out the new participant’s entrance, just taking its own welcome into the stage, its interesting robes of black and red, the red mask that covered the top of its face tight, letting green eyes glow and elegant lips shine, enough of a capture for everyone to fall silent. That cocky smile, different, endearing to Antonio, for once one making him go along in these new shouts and screams, convinced in the easy shine this person made their sword rise, seeming to fly high and claim already the brightest star. 

Battle started at the moment the competitors’ eyes met, quick to let their swords meet in a loud clang that announced well to all, their dangerous dance starting of evasion, attack, jumps, even swirls, every moment a delight to all their eyes. To the masked contestant, this was simple, it saw victory as soon as their swords met and like that it was given, the other’s sword flying off into the crowd, enough proclaim for the masked swordsman to win. 

The crowd erupted so loud Antonio feared they would tumble the arena down. 

As the tournament continued, as the masked player kept enamoring them all with their amazing skills, known steps, defenses, fast and graceful movements to seem like a flight, people just jumped and shrilled the more, truly ready to crush the stage with pure excitement.

All her competitors were wiped out from the tournament listing quick and sure, as easy as simply throwing their names away and watching the mysterious competitor rise and rise until she reached a final with only but the strongest of her enemies, Keron Montaje. 

When both their names were announced unto the stage, a thread of suspense easily hanged above the crowd, even the stage, especially to Antonio, who feared the teenager could recognize his mother if even just by the little skin she showed, her eyes, her movements, or just her voice. He was surely dramatizing, he and his mother did well to try and hide anything that could make her obvious. Besides, none of the Montaje had ever fought with them, they wouldn’t recognize even the skills that were so obviously Carriedo. 

As the judges prepared to announce what would be the last battle of the tournament, Keron and Joaquina settled in sending vengeance through their eyes, angering, pestering, anxious to start. Keron simply wanted the fame, to prove himself better before everyone, especially his family, and he was not going to let someone that wouldn’t even reveal his name or face to the crowds or himself that victory. To Joaquina, this was her chance on getting her name, a position away from the mansion, for honor, the best for her son and against years of being looked down on, abused and being stripped of her person. 

As soon as bells announced, along with shouts of the crowd, Joaquina was the first to strike and Keron was vigilant enough to defend against that rather strong blow that made him loose his balance, close from tripping to the sea of people. Quickly he tried a deadly slash to her face but she did well in defending through all the attacks that remained upwards, barely depending on their stance. It was forgotten, and so it was easy for Joaquina to find a moment of distraction to simply trip him by a mere slash of his leg, which had him on the ground, surprised and cringing. Impressive downward slashes continued and from the ground Keron still managed to defend against them, but it was becoming harder, the slashes so intense that he felt he was being buried into the stage. He managed a push and tried to get them back to the focus of upper attacks, but Joaquina moved by a mere inch, pushing him easily down and with an incredible dance of her sword, had Keron’s sword flying to the floor, momentarily trembling before it defeated itself by falling out of the stage. It was the decision that proclaimed the masked stranger the winner of the tournament. The crowd raged their unbelievable excitement, and Antonio couldn’t stop jumping and screaming along. The masked contestant raised her sword in thanks to their admirations and to acclaiming her triumph, with an ultimate pride that even made Antonio shine in the hiding of this mass approval. 

 

Even after her winning, the Red Mask never revealed themselves, which many were expecting. She simply headed to the judges to get her honors, money, looked for a young boy companion and headed off without a hint to where she was going. The event was well talked through the near towns, villages, word had even reached Madrid, much to the embarrassment of Old Montaje. The only bliss Joaquina and Antonio had received in the mansion was the constant scolds he would send his older son, his disappointments, using every sign, every chance to talk about his failure in the tournament and how he showed his disgrace to the family with a loss against someone who wouldn’t even dare show his real face. The Carriedo couldn’t hold their smiles, one time old Montaje noticing and sending them quite an angered shout that had them wary from doing it then on. 

They had to continue their usual farce, their preparations to leave silent, along with finding their contacts, their place of run away. His mother spoke of Valencia, her birthplace, her family, a place she was known and was sure could get them a new home easy. She managed the writings of a Patricio Gaspar, a friar who knew her from childhood and already offered her and her son refuge and protection. 

“Why didn’t you get us somewhere closer…like…Salamanca?” Antonio suggested one night after his mother had finished explaining well their plan of escape, to take action in a fortnight, their route and their stops, heavy, long, arduous and titanic. Antonio would sometimes remain awake truly wondering if they could make it to Valencia intact. 

“I didn’t know anything else but Valencia, hijo. Besides, they could have easily found us if we chose a closer city. I doubt Old Montaje would head to the other side of Spain just to find me.” 

“He’s always been really impatient when it comes to you, mamá. What if he still reaches us?” He feared. 

“Then this time we’ll fight,” she picked her sword from the cloth she had wrapped it well in for their travel of haste. 

This time she will defend well this chance of freedom. 

 

They had worked that day like they always did, yet silent, obedient, barely any words to other servants who they had small acquaintances with. By the last duties of the day, the mansion in dark silence, they got their things, sacks for each to hang over their backs and headed out through the floors and doors they knew wouldn’t cringe under their steps and push. They were out into the lands, through an old abandoned fence that Antonio had made an opening while others thought he was simply cleaning this area. Undetected, not a single guard noticing, they camouflaged with the shadows, avoiding light, other eyes or any of the more main roads. They took a hidden walked route through the forest and hills, one Joaquina was sure of, she knew and read. It would be hard but she was positive of arriving to the next town safe. They kept an arduous track during the night, finding only momentary rest at its darkest, short, to awaken at the early rays of sun and continue their walk. 

About half way, they met with a kind farmer who was heading to Astorga as they were and thus they hitched a ride on his carriage. They made a good friend of this man in their ride and were rather sad at wishing their goodbyes once they arrived. Joaquina paid for an inn to keep them for the least of two days, just to rest, regain energy, stock, prepare and try to settle as much as they could in the town as to not arise suspicion. Joaquina had met with the man who had given their ride and sometimes they spoke, admitting to him even of her and her son’s goal to reach Valencia. After an evening of a well spent together dinner, the poor man had been mugged and the thieves had run away with a high percentage of reals that the he had depended on. Antonio couldn’t stand it and was willing to go after them to get it back…just as Joaquina did. 

That night, she bore the mask, her capes, tunics, pants and boots and hunted for them in revenge. All the missing reals were returned to the man mysteriously, just as his new friends had fled in the dark early hours, with course to La Bañeza. 

When Joaquina and Antonio had arrived, the town was in the midst of a festival. It was active, it was full, it was easier to loose anybody who might come after them, but even crime was alive and no such joys was enough to stop it. 

Joaquina and Antonio had seen it all occur by the balcony of their inn, a gang disturbing peace by trying to kidnap a group of children. The wails of the families were too much to bear, so Joaquina took action. It was not a simple entrance, everyone noticed the deep red, how every fabric seemed to fly heightening the figure’s presence and stature, how so elegantly the figure moved, battling, fighting, capturing all the men, tied well for the authorities to imprison and for the children to run to their family’s arms in safety. They couldn’t risk it, they had to continue to run, this time to Benavente. There they saved an infant child from getting kidnapped in her own baptism. Of course, the crowds shrilled and celebrated, stories were told, they had to run, but it didn’t stop the word from spreading. 

In Villalpando they freed innocent captives from a soon hanging. When they thought they could have rest in Medina del Campo, they found themselves catching a mystery thief of the night. In Arévalo they stopped an entire gang that was terrorizing the town and had brought what the inhabitants called a time of peace. 

Finally, finally, finally, they had arrived to Madrid, for the first time seeing the magnitude of a city, beautiful, with large crowds to loose themselves between, so much going on and they could forget, they could finally have that rest they wanted. Confident they decided on remaining for a week, the action of the city they thought the police could deal with. Ignore it, they had to repeat to themselves as they dealt with a routine wanting to seem as normal and belonging as possible. It was hard, but with the time it had taken them to get there, knowing that surely the Montaje knew they had escaped by now, who knows if they had sent anybody, if they had reached Madrid with better speeds. They were weary, suspicious of every single gaze, any blackened robes or white seals having them running and panicking back in their inn. 

“We’re safe, it’s impossible for them to have reached us like this,” Antonio would try to lighten, enough to have his mother breathe and settle for whatever dinner they could manage. 

But that peace could not be held for long. Antonio had spotted them, this time the black and white one he knew, sure, unmistakable, he had to run and bring the dreadful news to his mother. She panicked, a crying figure of weakness that they both thought they had forgotten. 

“We’ll run,” Antonio had decided for them and so they packed quickly like they had used to in their journey. Joaquina managed to find and pay for a carriage that was heading to Tarancón, she and her son early for the appointment, their nervousness shown in the way they couldn’t stand still, couldn’t keep their eyes from wandering and wouldn’t dare let go of any of their bags. 

Yet even in this state they could not ignore a cry for help, could not just stand and let the wrong continue. This time it was a woman who was fighting off kidnappers, the famed Red Mask coming to the usual rescue that caught the big attention of the city, one that not even the scouting Montaje could ignore. Of course they recognized the masked hero that had beaten their young heir and it was a watch they tried to keep, forgetting their original goal of capturing the escaping Fernandez. Joaquina and Antonio had ended up missing their carriage in the saving, settling instead with running despite their fatigue and weakening bodies. They arrived to Tarancón sick, Joaquina especially, who had to be bedded and Antonio had to try his best by himself caring for her and trying to find any kind of medicine to help. 

Little did they know that their tracks were now targeted and hunted, little did they know of the Montaje presence in the town, of their plans of attack, of ending a too long a nuisance.


	2. Prolouge II

It was the third towel Antonio had placed on her and yet Joaquina continued with her fever, more evident in her harsh breathing, as well as her tight hold in the sheets that covered her. 

“We’re staying another day,” Antonio decided, standing to go and get some more warm water. 

“No…” Joaquina groaned out, trying to sit up, perhaps even stand, but the pang that hit her head and the weakness in her body only laid her back down. 

“I can’t let you continue like this, you will only get worse,” Antonio knew. 

“It is nothing.” 

“Mamá, you can’t even stand.” 

“We’re so close…we’re so close…” she begged, looking out the window as if she could already see the familiar city. 

Antonio left the basin by the door, standing and taking a sitting in her bed, his hand taking a sweet caress of her hair and face. “We are, that’s why we can’t risk it now. Let’s just wait until you’re better and then we can finally head home with no more worries.” In that belief Joaquina remained and so she settled back into bed, focused on relaxing and hoping it could help to bring her back to health as soon as possible. 

 

Two more days they decided to wait, that second one Antonio doing much of the preparing and deciding that he would carry everything. Joaquina was still weak, any little breeze bringing her to a shiver, but they couldn’t stall much longer. She had settled enough to be able to stand from her bed, but she still depended heavily on her son’s lean. They had reached a spot in the outskirts of the town where they were expecting a carriage ride. Joaquina had found service in the town, the driver willing to take them to Requena, and from there it was easy stepping into Valencia. Like his mother had said, they were indeed close, and neither couldn’t hold the slight excitement as they waited for the man to pick them. But as the night came, as it darkened heavily, the lights of the far-off town dwindling, it died into panic. 

“He should be here by now.” Antonio began to pace. 

“Perhaps he had a situation,” Joaquina tried to relax him. 

“Or perhaps forgotten.” 

“I paid him well, he wouldn’t.” But the minutes began to pass and yet nothing. 

Antonio breathed out, not being able to take it any longer. “I’ll head back to the town and ask.” 

“I’m too tired to make that walk, Antonio.” 

“I doubt anyone would cross this path at this hour. Just stay between the trees if anything. I’ll be right back.” And he headed off in a sprint. 

Joaquina wrapped her shall well around herself, hoping the dark colors could camouflage her well in the meantime. 

 

The town was slowly emptying for the night, making his search throughout much easier. 

The men began their march forward, knowing. 

Antonio found no sign of the carriage services.

Joaquina heard the coming footsteps. 

Antonio had asked a near woman with the name his mother had given him. She responded that she had never heard of that man, that the carriage service was under another name and not even in the town center. 

The men saw her, their determination granting them enough vision to see her in whatever hiding she tried to take. Joaquina thought them townsfolk on a night stroll or travelers, trying to hide herself deeper into the darkened green to drift from their eyesight. The closer they came, the more in her direction they seemed to head. 

Was it her sickness reaching her head? Was it the darkness? Had she begun to go mad? Was she really seeing that familiar symbol? That familiar color between familiar faces? It only became clearer with each of their steps forwards and Joaquina couldn’t stand it. Run, run, run, she kept repeating to herself, but her weakened state only made her give sluggish movements that one man had easily captured. She somehow managed to kick him, for a moment having a small crack into freedom, but she was easily held by the waist, the men laughing as she continued to punch and kick the air weakly. She was turned and held like a doll, being faced to the arriving figure of the man she deplored the most. 

Old Montaje came near, with a proud smirk. He had won the game tonight. 

“You went a little too far, Ms. Carriedo,” he laughed, his sickening way that had her give another try to punch or kick, somehow hoping any could reach him and knock out that hateful smile. 

“Didn’t expect I would catch you all the way here, nearly across the country. You eluded me well.” The mock continued in his tone, his hand now reaching into one of his pockets as his men piled around as a wall to hide. 

“I won’t let you take me back,” Joaquina managed to growl back, even launching forward like a rabid dog ready to bite. 

“Ah, the expected answer,” he said just as he raised his sword from his scabbard. 

Antonio ran, beating over his exhaustion and hastily making way. 

The tremors of her fever continued well, but she tried to pretend them gone, not show them to her opponent. She could do this.

A kick, a spin, punching one of the guys up his chin, she had gathered enough freedom to reach her own sword, freeing and pointing now in a challenge. For the first time she saw deep impression in Old Monaje’s eyes, along with just a quick and fleeing fear. Her proudness was enough to drown any pangs of pain, keeping herself steady and strong. 

“Do you truly want to make this harder?” Old Montaje grew that awful grin again, coming close, already enough of an accept. So Joaquina headed and slashed forward, managing the cut of a strand of hair. Old Montaje was incredulous, moving back in a stumble, rubbing the front of his head for blood, but only finding it clear. Joaquina was determined to continue until she saw that very red all over him. 

Well after a strong episode of battle, Joaquina was beginning to drown in her own perspiration, missing so many moves that decorated new bruises and cuts, oozing more of her fever, now spreading to the only item that shone with her remaining strength. With a laugh, an unmerciful throw, that last piece of herself landed easily on the floor with an alarming clang that echoed to Antonio from afar as he tried to reach. Without her shepherd’s staff, she herself fell to the floor alongside it, not capable of more, her body failing, no twitch even as her mind tried to force it. Come on, come on, she still determined, with a harsh tremble and a piercing amount of pain, raising herself, only her upper body before she was pushed again by the commanding foot of the elder figure. Despite the laughter and the mocking glares, there was nothing else she could do but claw at the ground under her as leverage. It offered nothing, and she remained as she was, a tiredness reaching her that made her more accepting to what could come. She didn’t mind the rise of the evil sword, of a target that was meaning to eliminate, the only thing that did enough to awaken her but a familiar shout and cry. 

“Mamá… Mamá!” 

“Antonio…?” His coming figure was the only thing that shone clear in her hazy vision. 

“Mamá! Mamá!” He continued to shout, faster, gaining strength enough to push in her save. 

“Antonio…Antonio!” She began to shout, a turn, a reach…which just made it easier for the sword to pierce. 

There was no mercy as the man only plunged deeper, turning and even forcing more of his foot to push her body against the floor. 

Both the figures were paralyzed, one in shock, another in infuriating pain. The sword released, tainted in blood enough. There was a mad smirk, lusting for more of that cringe in her figure. If he could get that with only one stab, let him feast on more and more. Antonio was not going to let that pig in his gluttony. 

He easily made way and pushed between the standing men, picking up the fallen sword and slashing instantly old Montaje’s, enough to have it fallen elsewhere, with no weapon, evidently defenseless. Antonio let his wrath blow out, all that was harbored for the man since childhood. It was intimidating, it was stronger than any fire, a heat that had the rest of the men cowering, moving back slightly until Old Montaje stood as the only one willing to go against it. 

The point of the sword neared him, all as a new challenge, a sort of break from letting this get any worst and for Antonio to release all the evils he had inside him for this man specifically. He didn’t prepare, he didn’t think quick enough. Antonio was already slashing away, unmerciful, death in every throw, extend, worsening with each approach. Any who tried to interfere, in less experience, was quickly cut and hurt, hurtling away in fear, unsure even more on what to do as they watched their boss slowly weakened and come nearer each time to a defeat. 

Driven by the fire of his anger, he let the sword take in its natural calling to kill. The last old Montaje saw was the inferno in Antonio’s eyes, a door to the hell that was soon to be his resting. 

Antonio had stabbed his sides, and if that wasn’t enough, he had slashed at his shoulder and even head, creating enough blood and damage that none could cure in that instant. Some had run the moment the fight took heat and now others were too horrified to remain any longer, deciding not to deal with the beast this old servant had become. 

The body falling to the ground, the other’s step as they rushed away, all passing and non-important to Antonio as he slowly came into his calm. The thought that he just killed a man did not resonate as strongly as he had thought. No, there was relief, there was proof of a vengeance well placed, a chance for Antonio to stand in new energy as his breathing relaxed. He spat at the body and let the sword fall uselessly as he himself fell to aid his mother. She was lithe under his arms, ready to be blown apart by the very wind or any breath Antonio let out. Her wounds were deep, many to pay attention to one singularly, blood oozing that Antonio was instantly well covered in simple touches. He ripped from his own clothes fabric to try and wrap as much as he could, but even so blood continued to escape. She cringed, she coughed, she found herself losing more holding of awareness. 

“Mamá, hold on, we’ll find help soon!” He panicked still throughout the little he could do. 

“It’s…no use…” her voice was so little, her eyes lost and her figure fallen. 

“No, it’s not! I’ll carry you back to town, we’ll get a doctor, and you’ll-you’ll be good as new!” It was so hard to believe when he himself could see clearly her incredibly bad state. 

“They’ll…only tell us what’s so obvious. Yo-you… only risk yourself at getting imprisoned once they found out about old Montaje.” 

“There has to be something we can do!” 

“Let me just leave…let me rest, let me join the heavens and finally be at peace,” she at least hoped, she at least had that promise. 

“No! No! No! You can’t leave me! You can’t leave me alone! You’re the only thing I have!” The dread began to show in his shed of tears. 

“You-you…you won’t be…” she managed to raise a hand, already so cold against the skin of Antonio’s cheek. “Ge-get…get to Valencia, find father Gaspar, he’ll give you a place, protection. You’ll be well under his wing,” she knew, she confided. 

“How can I?...How can I just leave you like this? Mamá, I don’t even know if I want to go anymore.” 

“You will,” she tried even harder to raise her other arm, making him stare at her clearly, at the last living spark in her eyes. “Continue to fight, my son. You have strength and life left to see. Don’t even let me burden you from that. You are free from the Montaje to live as you want and…” she reached to find the red fabric she kept well by her hip. In the last few weeks, she had used it as her mask when she took the personage of the red mask, thus the two holes now branded on it for sight. “Your father, as will I, will watch you, guide you in spirit and assure you to be what you want and what we think is best for you.” 

All Antonio could do was hold her hands tight, along with the fabric, the weeping too strong to word. “No…no…no…” he still begged, holding her to himself as if trying to hide even her soul and spirit from flying off away from him. 

“Te quiero, te quiero con toda mi alma, recuerda siempre que eres mi luz y mi todo,” she wanted to use the last of her strength to say, holding tightly to make it clear and hear it pass. 

In the very arms of her boy did she spent her last movements, breaths, color and light, all slowly disappearing from Antonio’s grasp until there was only but a dirtied shell. 

Antonio still cried over it, still begged, but afterwards, there were no more replies. 

 

Old Montaje’s body he dumped over a cliff to a busy river, the currents doing more a ruining that wouldn’t leave a piece to recognize or to wallow over in a funeral. He deserved as much. For his mother, he tried the best he could at the moment. He brought her body to the most beautiful clearing in the deep forest. He waited for the perfect light, and in that earthen glow, he decided on her bury. He wrapped her well in the best cloth they had, as many flowers as in the area he could take to cover her resting spot. A brightly silver and jaded cross pointed to her rest, one he had bought long ago back in Ponferrada. He stayed praying, all the long ones needed so he could assure to himself that it was reaching her in the heaven he knew the angels had taken her. 

It was the late afternoon of the next day when he made do with himself that he had to go on as she would have wanted. He made the contacts himself this time, managing that carriage they should have taken together to Requena. There he stayed a couple of days mostly to mourn and grief, stuck, unsure, still debating if he should go on to Valencia. When the funds his mother had left behind began to dwindle, he realized, if he wanted to survive and go on, he had to finish the thread to Valencia. He had gotten a horse, named her Alma, and settled off himself in that last bit left of the journey. 

The city was as lively and crowded as Madrid had been, with buildings, monuments, and squares surely to wonder and watch. What could have brought sun to Antonio, seemed grey and dull, and he passed by all these things only meaning to get to that last goal told by his mother. 

It was the main church of the city, in the center and bulk of buildings and people. He felt out of place, like a ghost, dirty, unkept, surely catching the eyes of those in more colorful and lively attire and attitudes. 

“That poor boy,” one woman pitied, surely the comment that was overall in the air as he made his way to the back of the church. 

With a hand still on his new horse’s reign, he knocked, unsure of what to expect, but at this point he didn’t care about what came. To his luck, an elder opened with what seemed a heavenly light behind him, robed in the clerical clothes that are expectant of his vocation. The smile he bore dropped upon the state of the boy he met. 

“Are you Patricio Gaspar?” 

“Yes, yes, my son, how can I help?” He instantly offered, coming close and extending his arms already in welcome. 

“I’m Antonio…Antonio Fernandez…Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.” 

“Joaquina’s boy?” 

“Yes…” 

“Come, come, come inside this instant.” 

They left Alma at the stables and without hesitation the man led Antonio down the bricked halls of the living areas of the church. He kept a rather warm hold on the boy’s shoulders that Antonio found relaxing, lulling into its protect. They arrived at a small kitchen, the priest instantly putting Antonio to sit while he quickly got some food to serve. When it arrived, Antonio had scorched it all quite desperately, yet Patricio was gentle and kind enough to not comment, taking a calm seat in the chair beside him. 

“Where is your mother?” He asked after Antonio had emptied well his plate and was now focusing on his drink. He brought back the cup in a harsh slam that Antonio instantly regretted using. It startled the priest and surely showed him more how misbehaving he could be. No…if he wanted to stay here and depend well on him, he had to show his kind and calm nature, take a breath, sit straight and communicate everything in precision without giving up to the tears that had been constant since. 

“She…she…she’s dead.” He couldn’t. Whatever dam he had created fell to pieces and unleashed more of the tears he had filled the days with. Patricio did not hesitate to take him into his arms, counseling in what he could through his hands spreading and caressing on his back and hair. 

“How…how did this happen?” He wondered, gently omitting his question. He didn’t want the boy to hurt more. 

“She was…she was ambushed. Old Montaje came, he had been chasing us across Spain and found…found us. She was sick, very sick. They fought, but she couldn’t take it much longer. By the time I arrived, it was already too late.” He let himself drown, the trembling clear, a sight that had the priest close to showing the same responses. 

“Was a proper funeral made for her?” 

“I tried the best I could,” he choked out. 

“Not to worry, she is well in the hands of god. An angel like her deserved the rest of heaven,” he assured her son, never stopping the lull of his hands trying to relax him. “What about Old Montaje?” 

Antonio could not admit that he had dealt with him, brought upon him his well-deserved death, unmerciful and without an ounce of pity. A cleric as himself would put him to shame, to amend and fulfill penances that he didn’t wish to make. He only shook his head upon his chest and didn’t word anything else. Patricio gave him that silence and shut his own questions. He was there at least, safe and with promise. He will definitely aid him how he could. 

“Come now, I will give you a place to rest,” he rose and lead him down a different hall, surely ones full of different rooms to offer. As they passed, even as silently as they did, it was still enough commotion for others who were established there. 

A couple of heads peaked curious, yet Patricio held the new boy well in his arms, ushering them all with a simple wave of his hand to go back to sleep. Three particular blond siblings refused it, the middle one, a girl, even taking forward steps ready to follow, help and take a look at who surely will be the newest addition. A deep stare from her eldest brother held her back to the room, along with it a decision to just head back to sleep. 

Antonio was given one of the last rooms in the hall, Patricio had to admit the smallest and tightest, only space for a bed, a small table, a small wardrobe and a singular window at the top bringing in just enough moonlight. 

“This will be your room for the time you will stay here,” he introduced, heading to the bed and making sure that it was well prepared. Antonio gazed about in the meantime, not fazed, simply acceptant, just wanting immediate laying in that bed. 

“Breakfast will be served at eight and I can show you around the church and convent afterwards,” he told, moving away to give the space for Antonio to take. 

He still looked so meekly, lost, a child now left with nothing in the world and all Patricio could do was this. He sighs, wishing a gentle good night and leaving him his space for now. 

As soon as the door was shut, Antonio landed on the bed and tried to focus on only whatever comfort he could get from it. 

Forget the days, forget the occurrences. 

He only wished his dreams could make it that easy for him.


	3. Prolouge III

The morning in the convent went on as per usual, albeit some watched any new stirring from the hall as most were excited to meet the newest member. No other showed it more than one of the Jansen siblings, Laura Jansen. 

The small blond girl had kept by the hall, ready to be the first to help and befriend the weak boy she had seen the night before. Her other two brothers, Tim and Louis, stayed by the table focused on their finished breakfast, eyes conversing on how to get their sister on other things. They didn’t know what this new boy was affected with and how weakened he was. He could pretty much decide to be in the room for days and it was probably best for her not to get her hopes too high. They stood, ready to suggest her in a joining of their chores, when suddenly they heard the hinge and opening of that furthest door, Laura instantly perking. 

It took a long while for the boy to move enough as to be shown, his entire being down casted, like a darkened ghost that was failing at a simple haunting. 

Laura was impatient and would not have this. She rushed and pulled him the rest of the way, in an instant bringing him to the table, not a minute passing and already placing a plate with a loaf of bread and a glass of milk. Antonio remained frozen, startled at this very quick array that was not in his mood and his mind wasn’t quickly thinking to. 

“Come on, eat. You have to start on chores and you’re lucky that my brothers and I are willing to wait for you.” She really tried to be harsh, bossy, but instead she blushed and gave quite an adorable pout that Antonio couldn’t find it possible to remain expressionless at. 

A laugh erupted, loud and ringing, unsuspected, less by this drowsy boy they had seen earlier and the night before. He banged the table, in wild hysterics letting his laughter continue to ring across the hall. 

The two brothers decided that he had to be crazy and the poor girl blushed deeper in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whipped the small tears that had formed, sitting straight and taking the breaths that finally made him calm down, instead presenting quite a beautiful and natural smile. This made the room fall more at ease, Laura finding it quite beautiful and fitting to the boy. 

“I think it would be great to join you. Just don’t threaten me like…that, and let me have my breakfast first,” he joked, in an easy friendly way that the girl found herself smiling back at. 

Comfortable, she took a sitting beside him, not minding on the silence as he ate on, the other brothers watchful from their side of the dining room. 

“How are you feeling?” Laura asked once Antonio took the last sip of his milk. 

“Uh…okay, I guess. I can do something though,” he still confided, standing, strong and ready for whatever that could have his use and help. 

“That’s great! I’m sure you’ll have some fun with us! And we can help you and become good friends! We’re sure you’ll like it here!” Laura happily exclaimed, ready to lead him to meet her brothers. 

“That’s exceptionally kind of you, Laura. But Antonio just arrived, and he still needs his rest.” Patricio entered the dining room, emitting a fatherly aura as ever, one that Laura knew she couldn’t speak against. “How about you and your brothers go on and do the drying. I’ll see if I can get Antonio to join you later.” 

The girl nodded and joined her brothers’ side. With her adding they headed off to start with the given job. 

“They seem really nice,” Antonio noted. 

It made Patricio smile, assuring him that perhaps Antonio can find easy fitting with their people. 

“They are. You will have your chance to befriend them later, but for now, I must show you your new home.” 

Antonio saw the entirety of the living quarters. Other rooms where they could read, write or play in, bathrooms, kitchen, terrace, garden, stable and even the holy church. It was tall, magnificent, quite a richness compared to the humbler areas of where Antonio would be staying, but it was admirable, and it had his steps slowing as he took in more of it. 

The touring had been done by the early afternoon, with time to spare and Antonio quite eager to join the Jansen brothers in the garden, where they worked on hanging wet fabrics to dry, conversing, laughing and joking as children should. Patricio smiled from his sitting, taking parts of his reading, Laura beside her as company, surprisingly not taking part in the activities with her brothers and the newest member. 

“Antonio?” She asked to the priest. 

“Yes, that is his name.” 

“Why is he here? Did he lose his parents too?” 

“He lost his father long ago, his mother recently.” 

“How did he know about you and the church?” 

“I raised his parents under my supervision here as I do you and the rest long ago. Both excellent people and I used to think bright futures awaited them. I was delighted to find out they had been courting and I had already agreed to wed them. But…” solemn he turned, hurt already at his next words while Laura stared on in both worry and curiosity. “Diego…his father, was in a terrible fight, not by his doing, he was just in the wrong place when it happened…he lost his life there and Joaquina…grew vengeful, maddened, more so when she found out she was with child and her beloved never got the chance to know. The fight was between two families, one of them the Montaje, the patriarch man who had killed Diego. Pregnant, Joaquina came for compensation and so the leader Montaje set up a match where they put at stake horrible prizes.” Patricio silenced at the harsh remembrance, but Laura gazed on still expecting his continuing. “If Joaquina won, she will receive a large sum of money to be able to live and take care of her son, if Montaje won…she will relinquish her sword and find servitude in his own mansion.” He sighed, not liking the turn it then took. “To this day I believe something went wrong in the match. Joaquina was a good swordswoman, enough to participate in the highest tournaments of the kingdom and beat all. Yet…this match did not prove it so and so she left to the other side of the kingdom to work for him. It was all disastrous, horrible, she was never meant to serve such a devil man.” His breaths were harsh, being chocked by only thoughts of what he wondered she must have gone through. “For years she took his abuse, worst, she had her son go through it as well and it was only recently that they managed an escape. Sadly, she was caught and well…only Antonio reached our church.” They both raised their gazes to him, who was happily chatting with the other two Jansen brothers, all that misery and turmoil disappeared. 

“Will he stay with us then?” 

“Until he decides so, yes, we will take him,” Patricio adopted him with those words. 

Laura smiled and was giddy in her seat. “It’s like having another brother!” She excited. 

“It will be, so I’m counting on you and your brothers to make this the best stay possible. Help him, talk to him, play with him, invite him to whatever any of you concoct. It will help him better and I will really appreciate it.” 

Laura smiled back, determined to fulfill that promise. 

 

In the passing weeks, that belonging that all had spoken and wanted for Antonio seemed a brighter possibility. Antonio settled well into the routine, found the jobs that all depended on him and Patricio adored that he was a devoted catholic as the rest of the kids there. He joined in the altar serving, every mass there with Patricio and the rest of the priests. It was a process he enjoyed being a part of and didn’t serve any complains as some of the other children did. The only dilemma was that he hadn’t had a proper outing into the city. Laura, who had quickly become a dear friend to Antonio, provided him that, waking him up in a rather harsh force in the morning and then getting him into proper wear for the streets. Of course, they were provided by Patricio. 

The markets in the city were full, which assured a populace that met them as soon as they headed, baskets in their holds to get the things Tim had specified well that morning. Both of them stayed together in their stroll through the streets, Laura being extra attentive that Antonio wouldn’t be easily distracted and loose himself in another direction. No matter, it would happen, which meant random runs getting him back or trying to get him away from buying many tomatoes from different stands. 

“Antonio, we go all we needed, we don’t nee more,” Laura told him after yet another pulling from another stand. 

“But they were so pretty! I’m sure Patricio and the nuns wouldn’t mind more,” Antonio convinced. 

“Best we just keep with what they said. After all we-” Laura was suddenly pushed to the side, a sure hit to the near hardened wall if Antonio hadn’t caught her on time. The men to blame had rushed off, escaping well between the crowds like they were flying, almost unnoticed to others. Later, a woman tried to rush at their pace, but she stood near Antonio and Laura exhausted, hand extending as if hoping it could do the reaching she wanted. 

“No…” she devasted, knowing that they were lost. She trembled, tears coating her eyes and showing her in such a weakness that Antonio couldn’t leave her alone in. He came forward, offering a straightening hand and comforting eyes. 

“Señora, what is wrong?” 

“They…they took my bag! I-I had papers there concerning my move to France. Without them, I won’t be able to go, I’ll lose my position, loose everything.” She started a heavy breathing. “I need those, I need those. Without them I might as well be left on the streets. I have a son, I can’t let him live like this, I can’t!” The tears now fell, depending on the hold she had of Antonio. 

He had no way of responding, all the words were sparking repeated horror images that he tried hard to erase from his mind the last few days. His mother, his own escape from the Montaje mansion, her death, nothing to be done but fight. 

“Oh, miss, I’m so sorry for this. I really wish there was something that could be done.” 

In Antonio’s blankness, Laura decided to take the woman and offer her own comfort how she could. Whatever cries and words were only murmurs, Antonio now switching his attention to the direction the felons ran off. The people that walked on were uncaring, greyed and silent as Antonio surely stood in the center for them. He thought…and even saw how he could run between, what moves he could easily use to ground and defeat them. It wouldn’t be hard, he could go right now, nothing to stop them but perhaps Laura’s confusions and shouts. Before his thoughts continued any other hindrances, he took that sprint, forward trying to find their trace, between carts, rushing people and carriages. Finding recent commotion, he took deep secretive alleyways. A red flag reminded him of his own familiar red, always hidden well in his pockets. He took it out, the holes that were meant to showcase his mother’s green, reminding him, telling him of a trade that had to pass, that he could take. As he gripped it stronger in his hold, he was decided to move on that fire, for his father, and now his mother. Taking that responsibility, accepting everything that would come from there on, he tied it around him, as sure and ready as he would help his mother. It fitted him like it was meant, like it was always for him and with it he felt the strength that pushed him faster down the alley. As he was draped by a sudden red cloak, surely a sheet from a resident in the area, he took it with him, the cape that will hide his body well, ripping then a part to cover his head as he couldn’t find the proper hat. 

He was dressed well in the imaginary hero of his mother and her stories, publicly shown as he exited the alley, jumping high in light that none could miss, none couldn’t hold their startling, pointing and gasps. Antonio flew by them uncaring, not when he could catch a glimpse of the running thieves, almost disappearing in the distance. He used the top of carts, stands, even that of low buildings to make his way between this extensive crowd that filled this particular square. Thanks to the movements under him, that he used to propel himself, he managed a quick catching, until he could see the cloaks on the others, even the bag they stole, clear. He smirked at how easy it would be after this…even without a sword tucked in a scabbard at his hip. 

A particular jump from a hanged cloth, a made aim, and he landed with a harsh kick on the sole who held the bag. He hurled in pain, one that the others tuned to in shocking halt, confused that…something, dressed in red, just stopped their friend in an easy grasp. Antonio kept using him as his standing, maintaining a force that let him take the bag and place it on himself safely. 

He might have it back, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to leave it easy for them after what they did. While they were distracted in impression, Antonio drove himself forward and started with his known tactics of kicks and punches, bringing them to an unconscious level that they couldn’t respond to any longer. A space was left for him and his prey while others ran or cowered to the sides. It granted Antonio the sight to see three small logs of wood thrown from some pass mess. It was exactly what he needed. He brought the three to a stoned wall, using the wood to hold them there from there cloaks. The guards will deal with them, but Antonio considered his job done. He ran away swiftly, disappearing to all their eyes, some even daring to follow him and question, but none was fast or attentive enough. 

Antonio moved between the shadows and whatever hiding in between with less crowds and people. He managed a return to the area where he started his run, Laura still comforting the victim. Antonio wondered if she had noticed he left. From his hidden heights, he dropped the bag before her, then rushing off elsewhere, plotting some new way to get to Laura without giving suspicion. The woman shrilled and hugged the bag, bringing then Laura close as if she were her angel that brought it forward. She shouted all kinds of thanks to the heavens and even the girl who had done nothing else but remain with her. Laura stood in deep question, not understanding the events that passed so quickly, hoping for Antonio to give some sort of explanation. That’s when she noticed he was gone, in no vicinity, leaving her alone to deal with an aftermath he created. 

After the woman had relaxed enough, Laura had let her go her way, now with a new search for the new boy. She was almost close to the church when he heard his shouts, running to meet her down this street she walked on. He seemed exhausted, strained, sweating away a big load from what surely must have been a harshened job. 

“Where were you?” She scolded, angered and Antonio feared she was to inflict punishment that instant. 

“I…I…tried to find the thieves that took her bag. I lost them…and then I got lost myself. What happened?” He feigned. 

“Well, after you darted out like that, someone actually got it back and brought it.” 

“Really?” Antonio alighted grandiosely. “Who did?” 

“I…don’t know…whoever did just dropped it between us and left. I couldn’t catch them. She was really happy though…she wouldn’t let go of me and I’m wondering if she thought I did it.” 

Antonio chuckled, dusting away whatever was on him, striding beside her with their baskets of produces, aiming their way back to the church like nothing had occurred. 

Laura rolled her eyes and didn’t pay much mind…but she did notice the red cloth hanging from Antonio’s back pocket. 

 

From that day on, news and stories scurried around the city about a hero dressed all in red, guarding, protecting and acting against all selfish and heinous crimes that disruptive peace. It was the kind of tales that kept all the children in the church awake, wanting to hear anything new that occurred. Laura loved them just as much as her brothers and the rest, but her suspicions, her worries, didn’t let her showcase her true excitement. 

Antonio had lately taken to disappearing. Absent from most work, from their fun, arriving at late nights with bruises, blood, strained, wanting immediate food and water to recover the energy he had used. At first, she had wondered if he had been participating in some sort of sports event in the city, but even so he would have told them and he would have had to ask permission from Patricio and in turn the friar would have told them. But with every news, every reading and hearing, Laura would assimilate with the state Antonio would arrive each time. 

It was too obvious, it was too coincidental, and Laura couldn’t continue to be ignorant about this. 

She had decided to remain awake, in yet another late night that Antonio had yet to show his presence. She had taken a sitting in Antonio’s room, something that was well against the rules Patricio had placed for them, but Antonio was well disobeying them as well. She heard his familiar steps, still so clear to her even though she knew he was trying to pass by as quietly as possible. She could tell his relief once he entered, shone by the candle he held, but once he turned, shinning that very light on her as well, he jumped and almost dropped it. Luckily, he didn’t shout, petrified in his spot, afraid of any little extra movement that would get her to befall on him harsh words. 

“Are you the Red Mask?” Laura instantly asked, no hesitation, no fear, no other thought to interrupt. 

“The what?” Antonio’s question was true. 

“La Mascara Roja. The hero that everyone is talking about! The guy who’s out doing good, saving lives, dressed completely in red. There’s been stories about him across Spain, particularly in places you went through when you came here with your mom,” she eyed in accusation, Antonio starting to understand, his nervousness shown with the sweat that began to grow and how he adverted his eyes. 

“They’re especially common here in Valencia, during times you are not here in the convent. When you come back, you’re wounded in ways that are exactly like the Red Mask has in his recent stories. Also…I’ve seen you with that,” she pointed to the red cloth, now obvious on his hip. In his shock with her presence he had forgotten to hide it. 

“So, I repeat myself, and I want your honesty. Are you the Red Mask?” The flare she had in her eyes were ready to attack for if he omitted lies. 

He stood on in silence, his eyes continuing their aversion, as if looking for some kind of escape. 

“Come on, just tell me! I’m your friend and you can trust me with this!” She eased close, but yet with a still present beg. 

“Okay, okay, if I’m going to tell you this, just please, keep your voice down and you have to promise to not let a single word out!” 

Antonio pushed them to a further corner of the room, trying to make their words even more hidden. Laura excited, giving little jumps, such an assuring nod that made Antonio smile, knowing well that he could indeed trust her. 

“Yes, fine, I am the Red Mask,” he gave up, huffing, hands on his hips, a tinge of embarrassment and blush over letting someone find out so easily and to having been forced to expose it all. 

“I knew it!” She shouted, with a jump that almost hurled her all unto him. 

Antonio quickly shushed her and pushed her back to the wall. “Not a single word can escape about this! Do you have any idea in how much trouble I’ll get with Patricio?” He pointed and feared. “And not just Patricio, but perhaps every single thief in Spain who wants revenge! Protecting my identity is for my own protection as well as the people that surround me. I lose that, I put the entire convent in an unbelievable risk,” Antonio wanted Laura to know well before anything. 

Antonio could tell Laura understood well with her shocked and feared eyes, surely imagining the horror of that probability. “Oh…I understand then…don’t worry. I won’t tell absolutely anybody, I promise,” she acclaimed. 

“Good…then, you should be heading to sleep and-” 

“Wait, what, right now? I just found out something incredible and you just want me to head out and go to sleep just like that.” 

“Well, yeah, I was kind of hoping you would.” Antonio had even gone to the door ready to open it for her. 

“No! I mean! You have to tell me everything! How did you start? Why are you doing this? Do you get something if you do? Are you planning to continue? What if Patricio finds out? What if the wrong person does? You have to tell me everything!” Laura quickened so much that Antonio was easily overwhelmed, startling and not being sure of which question to answer and which to hope she could forget as he answered the other. 

He sighed and prepared himself to talk. “Well…my mom, for as long as I can remember, used to tell me these stories about a red masked hero that went out saving the day in the most amazing ways possible. I…noticed well that she made the stories surrounding how awfully our master would treat us, the servants and anyone around him, the hero in her mind saving this person through her tale. Part of me always wanted to take this persona to save these people that I saw everyday be treated so harshly. I…never really thought it possible until well…I saw my own mom do it.” He took a sitting on the bed, a true wonder in his eyes that Laura found beautiful and more fitting to him. “She started it as a disguise to win a big price back where I’m from without letting our old master see us, using that money to runaway here. Truthfully, she was the one that did the majority of the saving when we were crossing Spain. After she died, I though that no such hope would be left again…until I realized I could do it myself.” Laura watched as he took out the red mask, confidently showing it clear, for her to wonder and awe, tempted even to touch it. “This cloth…used to belong to my father, part of a cape he always wore for sword practicing with my mom. She kept is a reminder of him and for a way to have my own connection to him.” He always saddened at the fact that he never got to meet the inspiration that even brought these stories to start. “I really cannot stand to watch people be mistreated, captive and used. If I can do something to change it, if I know I can do it, that I have the skill, then I will risk whatever possible until I know people are freed and happy.” He tightened his grip on the mask, in a noble decree that made Laura even more wondered. It was indeed like a romantic tale of a gallant hero. 

“Antonio, I absolutely admire what you’re doing. It’s much more than what the aristocrats that came to mass every Sunday do, I’ll admit even the very guards of the city. I’ll worry, I’ll stay up late waiting for you. It’s not exactly something easy to deal with and I am terrified that it can end worse than what you deserve,” she sighed, worried at those images, taking Antonio’s hands in comfort. “I wish you luck in your continuous missions…but I wish to help, so…I ask from you a condition.” 

Antonio huffed and was ready to anger, but Laura was quick to interrupt and say it. 

“Let me join you!” 

Antonio was stunned, having to shake his face to really let the words repeat well, making sure he really heard them. “You…want to join?” 

“Yes! Take me the next calling! I’ll…fight or-or just an extra hand if you need to beat someone and I have to take someone elsewhere!” 

“Laura, I cannot simply risk your life like that!” 

“Teach me to fight if you have to! We’ll practice! Meet up somewhere every day! I’ll wear my own mask and disguise if I have to!” She was determined, a perseveration that Antonio knew there was nothing he could do to stop. 

“Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! Please!” She continued to beg, tightening the hold of their hand. 

“Laura, Laura, Laura, quiet!” He still worried. 

“If you don’t let me, I’ll just get louder!” She really wanted to do this. 

Antonio gave up, giving a harsh sigh. “Fine, fine, we’ll do something!” 

“Yes!” Laura excited in whisper, embracing Antonio, glowing at the sure adventure that was to come.


	4. Prolouge IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M ALIVE! …this is a very short chapter, but it is the last of the prologues. By the next chapter, we’ll finally have Lovino and I guess you could say the story really starts. I hope I can get to it quickly, but things always happen, and it makes it difficult to really find the time to write. As always, I tend to give details in my snapchat: worldwidecake, and if you’re more curious and want to know more of what’s taking me, you can always check my Instagram: worldwide.cupcake. No worries! I will always get to updating at some point!

“This is the best I could find for now!” Antonio struck the doors open, dust and cobwebs flying. Sure, it was dark, old, Laura’s eyes teared at the dirtied air, but she had to admit that it had the perfect space. She looked behind her, the city far, the old building camouflaged well with the hill and rocks. 

“How did you even find this place?” She wondered as she dared to go deeper, really exploring every corner. 

“Heard someone last Sunday at mass talking about it. It used to belong to some farmer, but he then moved to Galicia and left this place with nobody interested in buying.” In a way, it was a pity, this would have made a wonderful new farm…but at the same time, he wanted it for himself, for free, a good hiding and away from public roads. 

“We’ll take it! We can practice and plan anything that we need to,” Antonio introduced, having cleared enough, twirling and extending his arm in pride despite its still brokenness, with never ending work to be done. 

“It will do,” Laura shrugged. 

“Okay, first of all, we need to make a disguise and name for you,” Antonio wanted to start, dropping some fabrics and other random items they weren’t using in the convent, so he decided to take them. “Use something that will work well for you for whatever circumstance, but special, so you can always see or feel it for determination.” 

Laura had already picked a silky yellow one, soft and just beautiful. Antonio thought it fitted her well. 

“Do you have something special?” He brought it forward again. 

She was pensive, but it was only a short while, for she instantly had it. “My pin!” 

“A pin?” Antonio had never seen one with her. 

“My…father was a jeweler and he made custom pins for me and my brothers. Mine was a sun. They’re very precious to us. Since it’s the only thing we have left of him we keep the three in a box together.” 

“Are you sure you want to use it for your disguise? It will be at huge risk with everything we’ll be doing.” 

“You did say it had to be special and something that could determine us, and I’m sure that it’s that.” She was well decided, and Antonio smiled. 

“If you’re sure, then let’s start practicing.” 

They went to that old cabin thrice a week, filling its air in the clangs of sword, one Antonio’s own, the other one that Laura had taken from the convent that wasn’t in use anymore. They practiced throws with other items, even fought bare fisted, Antonio doing well to show her all kind of known movements that could help in the event she lost her weapon. 

The disguise they made for her was a shine of yellow that instantly reminded Antonio of sunshine and sunflowers. In their practices, he would call her sol, and it stuck well to the crowds for when they did their first mission together. It was saving an old man from being taken from his home. While Antonio did well to capture the culprits, without Laura’s trap or her kindness in dealing with the old man after she managed his taking to freedom, the mission would have been an utter failure.

As Antonio had foretold, Laura was soon getting the recognition of ‘Sol’ or the Sun mask across the city, an adding of her story to the ones being told in the convent. Whenever Antonio and Laura could reach to hear them, they would smile and smirk to each other knowing, one that the other Jensen brothers noticed more strongly as the days passed by, along with their misses and their bruises. 

It didn’t take long for the brothers to find their hiding place, neither long enough for the boys to want to partake as their sister did. And so, the four began their training, the talks, the preparations. 

Tim’s pin was that of a globe of mist, a pattern he wanted repeated in his own clothes and they found successful with other greyed fabrics, paint and even some cotton. He was known as Neblina or the Mist mask, his attacks so quick that they came and left as mysterious as a mist. 

Louis’s was the most sparkling and richest of the pins, many colors shinning once it was hit by light. Louis wanted something as colorful and shinning, much to Antonio’s disagreement and his convincing to try and get him on another theme. Something like that was bound to be too eye catching and revealing for the secrecy they wanted to try and keep as they worked. 

Louis ended up making quite a remarkable suit with those very shines. They all had to admit it was beautiful, an allure and attraction that had even the thieves they tried to stop as wondered. So distracted they were that it was easy for Louis to strip them on their weapons and rely on his daggers to attack. 

Antonio didn’t dare complain about his wear again. 

Now he was known as Joya or the Jeweled mask. 

A year after this, a French family had come to the city, rich, pompous and all the aristocracy expected from their origin. They had a son who showed these very qualities, dazzling all with charm, beauty and even shine with his bright colored clothing, blond hair and blue eyes. They attended the church every Sunday and to the surprise of all, Antonio grew a rather close relationship with the known heir through his visits. He found out his name was Francis Bonnefoy and as he got to know him, he learned of his impeccable swordsmanship skills, violent and unmerciful, betraying his upbringing of poise and elegance. They often spared as practiced and found whatever chance they could. It was through this that Francis found their hiding place, slowly realizing what Antonio exactly did with his friends from the convent. He had heard the stories and was as excited as Laura had been when he found out. He was a necessary addition, his strength and knowledge just the high hope they needed when a saving seemed impossible. His disguise was of course the richness and eloquence expected of him, the fabrics and ornaments like those of a white, blue and silver bird, the most extravagant of the group. 

He was known as Alas or the Wing mask. 

With the Spanish Empire in its widths, with its opening and entrance of those from every corner of the world, it was no doubt that they would have a reach of America and Asia. The convent had received a group of six from these very regions and colonies, many who had suffered heavy different consequences in their homelands and were sent to Spain hoping to find guidance or enlightment from heavy catholic surrounding in the mother land. Antonio easily befriended them all and had helped them well in their adjusting. 

There was Carlos Machado, from Cuba, who had come with his baby sister from Puerto Rico, Rosangeliz Perez, after they had lost their family, including many of their siblings, in a horrible plantation accident in the Caribbean. Carlos joined the group first, their strongest in brute physical strength without having to confide in weapons. Because of the darkness of his disguise, using a black cape that was tainted in smoke after the accident he lost everything in, he was known as Oscuro or the Dark mask. That baby girl he had brought, grew to be a persistent and stubborn girl, begging to a point that Antonio had no other choice than to accept her despite being the youngest in the group, a child. Her smallness helped her to be as sharp and shoot as an arrow, which she was known for. Flecha or the Arrow mask. All from a necklace she was given from her grandfather, a small carved one that she wore faithfully. 

Then there was a young Mexican couple, Luis Valdez and Guadalupe Martinez, both fleeing from a persecution against them because of a series of artistic squares they were making telling of their government’s cruel tyranny. They spent a lot of time with just themselves, hard to create any contact with the others until they showed their designs. The convent had absolutely adored them, and Friar Patricio had even suggested they painted their living quarters in their ideas. They all participated and cooperated, creating a friendship and trust between themselves that finally opened them up well to the rest. Luis and Lupe heard of the loving stories, like the rest curious, for all the strongest hints were in the convent they were making their home. They followed the tracks until they found themselves in the old cabin, until they were training, until they were participating as well in their missions and getting to be part of those very stories. Luis was known as Calabera, or the Skull mask. It was all based from a figurine he had found as a child, inspiration for his designs that themed with death and all its mysteries. Lupe as Flores or the flower mask, from a ribbon she constantly used for the braids of her long hair, which she added to flowers, the very ones she added to her disguise, her paintings, flourishing indeed in contrast to her beloved’s. They worked well together like the cycle of life and death, and even in their masked personas they were known as a couple. 

Then there was Amaro Prado, from Peru…the quietest of the Americans that came. For the longest time most had thought he was mute, until he spoke out one day when they mentioned if he wanted some coffee, recognizing the beans as ones that came from his area. With that revelation, they soon began to pester and befriend as they usually did until Amaro had no other choice than to accept their call for friendship and more conversations. For being so young, he still spoke with great wisdom, much more than even Friar Patricio, like the spirit of some ancient being was well rested in his youthful vessel. He talked often of the Incas, knew well their language, culture, even had a medallion that had passed well across generations of his family. With the inevitable of joining the group, the medallion decorated the center of his disguise, in colors, golds and symbols of that ancient civilization. As he was, he was the smartest and exact in his attacks, which meant that whatever simplicity he used, it was bound to work because of the thought and even physics that went into it. He was the only one who didn’t use a violent weapon, but a simple staff that didn’t even hold a metal sharp. 

He was known as Inca or the Incan Mask. 

Finally, there was Gael Bayani, the one who had come from the furthest, from the colonies in Asia, the Philippines. One of the friendliest in the group, who had opened the moment he arrived to the convent, making himself at home like he had always been there. Because of his immediate comfort into their group of friends, he was the only one that didn’t find out about the masked heroes out of curiosity, but because Antonio told him himself, interested in his joining majorly because of his speed and tactical mind that would work well in his group. At first, Gael was skeptical to join and had refused the first asking, but after witnessing how a musician was attacked one night, acting out on impulse did he go forward, working even unmasked with the heroes to help save and capture the culprits. There he accepted, taking his persona after the sea, based from an ocean jewel that had passed down his family, one of voyagers of the seas, known to its current and strengths, a knowledge that Gael knew well and continued to bring, even the blues, to swift and dangers that was the ocean. 

He was known as Mar or The Sea mask. 

And with him, the set was completed, the twelve heroes that watched over Valencia like the very angels in the basilica. For years they continued being this powerful shield, their feats even reaching other areas in Spain outside of Valencia. Their stories were just the adventure, the action, the teaching, even the fantasy that kept hope alight in so many children’s minds. The stories were large enough to travel, tales being heard in Portugal, France, England, Germany, Austria, to of course Italy, even to Naples.


	5. Chapter 1

Such stories were the root of Renata Valenti’s current predicament. Hurrying her way down the streets, searching through every small crevice her eldest son could fit through. Some who knew her, giggled between their groups, knowing well what was happening. 

“Lovino is at it again?” One elder woman imagined. 

“As always,” Renata rolled her eyes. 

“Last time he was at the guard station.” 

“Another at the smiths.” 

“At the bar with those soldiers.” 

“Already checked and still no sign of him.” Her worry was peaking. 

“Think about the stories!” 

“What happens in the last one he heard?” 

“Something about some…barracks!” And that was the spark that gave her the next direction. 

“Then off you go!” 

“Thanks!” She hurried off. 

Lovino Valenti was well off her reach, already nearing his goal for the day, trusty toy sword on his waist and the determined glow ready for a fight…even when he was only seven years old, a little thing scurrying like an alley cat all across the actions of the city, making many smile dearly. 

“Buon giorno, Lovino!” One woman called.

“Buon giorno, Signora Giosetta!” He greeted, breaking from that serious expression to one of kindness and gentleness, waving to her as excited a child should be. 

“Giving your mother a scare already so early in the morning?” 

“No! I’m only going to practice!” 

“Practice what?” 

“My sword skills to use for the war!” And he hurried off, only aiding to cause more giggles in the area. 

Soon he entered tunnels and streets that led him away from the routine of the common people, to another area of the city that now soldiers moved about, wondering why such a young child was sneaking his way between them. He scurried until he found a good spot, a good high altitude, trees covering his presence from those that could walk in his area. He only wished he could partake in the sparring he saw, in wearing those dirtied uniforms, in screaming along in shouts of pain or victory, swinging a majestic steeled weapon, moving about in grace as any dancer should. Lovino kept his eyes on one of them, the one he found had everything, speed, strength, defense, art, even the emotion well painted on his face. He stared, studying, copying, remembering well every trick, teaching, even his shouts of correct as he instructed others. Confident, sure, he stood, ready to try them, telling himself to begin once he started with a new figure to begin his new teaching. He really didn’t think about what he was doing, but of the pure beauty and interest of it, more like a show, a dance, a moment to think himself the hero of his mind. In that loss of his imagination, he did not notice the loud noises he made, the war cries, the utter performance he made himself from the heights he had thought was secretive and private. None of the soldiers could ignore this, stopping their usual routine to look above to this rather adorable child. Lovino went on uncaring, not seeming to notice the silence that settled as everyone laid their eyes on him. Renata had entered the area, easily spotting Lovino even between bushes, his moves and shouts too large to remain hidden even between their small covering. 

“Lovino Valenti!” She shouted, not being able to hold her anger. 

Lovino instantly stopped in his cowering, crunching down hoping to be unseen, but it was in that moment that he noticed all the eyes that were staring at him from the camp, some chuckling, others pointing, smiling, even waving. Lovino curled himself more, his childishness thinking he could disappear if he did so more tightly. It didn’t work, for soon enough he felt his mother intimidating shadow covering him completely, especially in this small stance he brought himself into. He only peeked, instantly fearing the way his mother’s eyes burned with fire. 

“You’re coming home, right now!” She instantly took his wrist, hauling him up and dragging him out, back to the busy streets. Some of the soldier men waved goodbye and to some Lovino managed his own. 

 

“See, Nonno, See!” Little Feliciano, showing his drawing of a little bird proudly, practically shoving it in Augusto’s face.

“Lovely, angelo mio, lovely!” He excited, rubbing his hair, the little boy smiling and going back to his coloring. 

It was in that moment that Renata had finally made her return, exhausted, still grasping to Lovino, fearing that he would escape again at any opportunity that she wasn’t giving the slightest gaze. 

“There you are!” Augusto instantly stood, heading over to his other grandson, kneeling to make sure he was doing fine. When he did so, he then hit the boy at the back of his head harshly, Lovino groaning out and rubbing the area. He tried hard to not shed the slightest tear. 

“Lovino, stop doing this! It’s dangerous! You can easily get lost, kidnapped and you wouldn’t see any of us again. Do you understand that?” 

“I’m just learning to be a good fighter,” he tried to excuse. 

“Why on earth would you want to be a fighter? You are only risking yourself and assuring yourself a horrible death. I would never let that be the faith to any Valenti.” The proudness to which he called the name, a decree that was like a god implementing it. Lovino had gotten used to rolling his eyes whenever he got this paranoid. 

“That’s the point of practicing, Nonno. So I can get really good and then nothing bad will ever happen to me,” such a child seemed sure. 

“No matter the kind of practices you do, there will always be a weakness your enemy will take advantage of. Before that, I prefer you chose something safer that doesn’t involve making your mother chase you across all of Naples to find you because you’re trying to keep it hidden from us.” He got much closer, grabbing him by the shoulders, hoping that the words would truly pass through his intense gaze. 

“But I don’t…I don’t want to do something else…” Lovino was honest, tears even coating his eyes, an expression that hurt Augusto, that soothed his grip, until he let go, sighing. 

“Lovino, there are many things for you to try!” 

“He’s right, angelino. You might not like our business, but I’m sure there are other things that won’t have to make you fight so violently,” Renata came in, going down to his little level, joining her father. “You can become a banker, a smith.” 

“A cook, a carriage driver, farmer.” 

“Or a painter!” Feliciano himself added, raising his finished drawing high. 

“Even a writer! You do write the most gorgeous things,” Renata reminded with a beautiful sway, truly proud of both her sons’ talents. 

“It’s not as exciting…or cool…I want to be…like the stories, like the heroes in Spain who do so much for the people around them.” 

“You can do just as equally without adorning a disguise and learning to use a sword.” 

“Lovino…these stories are just that, stories to excite your mind and keep you hopeful. We all need this sort of escape from our dull, but they should remain as that. Let them do their job to protect, they know well the consequences and have prepared themselves for them, but you should focus on being safe…I’m sure is what the great…Red Mask would want,” Renata excited, twirling her son in a famous flamenco move to excite him and bring him back to their usual family joy. It was just enough to get Lovino laughing, that angry pout away and forgotten. 

He missed that. 

He missed how his mom could excite him, his little brother and grandfather so well after any little discomfort. Laugh, dance and play like no wrongs plagued the world. Why did these very plagues had to take her away? Why was the last he reminded of her sunshine being one tainted in blood, lifeless, greyed, continuing tears coating his eyes, his little brother joining along in bigger cries, in a desperate hold that begged her back despite the slashes and the long gone beat of her heart. 

These dreams had been so commonplace to Lovino that he had learned to awake in calm, not the shouts, screams and tears of the past. He had learned to quickly put them on the back of his head, focused then on the movement of the sceneries outside the coach window, a shinning sun that glowed strongly on his face, alighting his eyes quite beautifully, Feliciano had to admit from his side of the coach. Lovino glared at his giggle, but Feliciano smiled on, probably the only one in the coach who was truly excited. 

“I didn’t think you would take a siesta on such a short trip,” Augusto laughed himself. 

“That boat trip over here was annoying, I couldn’t get much sleep,” he groaned, rubbing out the last tiredness from his face. “Still can’t actually. I just want to have a proper stable bed to sleep on.” He looked on to the window, hoping that they would soon reach the house that had that promise. 

“I assure that you will for tonight,” his grandfather excited, for he was joyous to see this new house, alongside Feliciano. 

“Please tell me more about it, Nonno. I still can’t get over how beautiful it sounds,” Feliciano dreamed, practically making himself jump more than the coach was actually doing as they rode on. 

“Well, it has four floors if you count the attic and basement. It used to belong to a Spanish count who married a Marroquin princess, so he adorned it as much as he could to please her, yet she continued to insist that it was still too Spanish,” he laughed. 

“Please don’t tell me their ghosts haunt it,” Feliciano feared, already cowering and wanting to hide, making Lovino roll his eyes. 

“Nooo,” Augusto made sure, placing a comforting hand on Feliciano’s shoulder. “They left to Morocco many years ago where they died peacefully, so hopefully there are no evil spirits in this house. Of course, you’ll each have your own room,” he grinned, just as Feliciano jumped and clapped, Lovino sharing a smirk, trying not to show just how as excited he was as his brother for this. 

Not that he minded Feliciano, but after sharing a room all these years, it was a breath to finally have their own privacy and area for each. 

“We’ll have many servants, designated places to have our breakfast, lunch and dinner. They’ll be a lot of space to read, relax, paint, work. We’ll have a beautiful garden and…” Augusto halted, snapping and trying to remember anything else of importance that could be missing. “Oh! Of course! Antonio!” He finally realized. 

“Antonio?” Lovino questioned. 

“He’s a cleric to the main church of Valencia who will be staying with us,” he tried to excite. 

“A cleric? What for? Do you seriously want somebody constantly giving us liturgies,” Lovino was annoyed. 

“No, but I thought having a spiritual guide in our home could serve as an anchor in times of hardship, someone to go to when we feel hopeless and ourselves is not enough. He is much closer to God and can help immensely with our salvation. He is also training in his vocation and his friar suggested our home as a place to complete his testing.” 

Lovino was not swayed, despite how his younger brother smiled and was expectant, surely excited to meet this Antonio. 

“Are we paying him?” 

“Only housing and food. It’s mostly volunteering.” 

Good, because Lovino did not want them using the family expenses for such a thing. 

He continued to show an obvious annoyance about this though, one Augusto spotted. “Why are you not pleased?” 

“I don’t like having someone else in the house, it makes me think you just did it to replace Mamma. I think the three of us is just enough, we don’t need somebody else getting into our business.” 

Sure, it was a reminder nobody liked to think about, always a straining silence that made Lovino momentarily worry that Feliciano would start crying as he usually did, but he liked to make himself clear and avoid anything that could be unnecessary for their small family. 

“It was mostly to help a fellow man of the church, someone who has lived here long enough to help us with adjusting. I also really like the extra company. His room will be at the other side of the house, so if you don’t want to come into contact with him, I believe it shall be easy.” 

That did enough to remove layers of frustration on Lovino’s face, losing interest in the conversation and keeping his eyes locked on the passing outside. 

Finally, the large house was spotted, surrounded by a beautiful garden that was reminiscent of the ones in Italy, probably made in that specific style with them in mind. They entered through a gorgeous gate, then upwards to the heights of the house, shinning splendidly now in a style more of the region, Spanish, harsh reminder of where they went to, how far they left home behind and how there was no turning back. 

They continued upwards until the coach stood right in front of the grandeur entrance, servants lined and welcoming with bows, ready to start their business as soon as possible. Lovino did not expect such devotion so suddenly, such compliance, some coming even to begin picking their bags from the coach to bring inside. Feliciano was as well startled, after all, the two brothers had never been used to servants doing all the little chores they had grown to do themselves back in Italy. 

“Come along now,” Augusto instead smiled, used to this of course, for this was his life before he left to Naples, moving pass it all to begin the touring of the house. 

Lovino and Feliciano moved hesitantly behind him, slow as they took whatever small intricacy that decorated the entrance splendidly, from painted designs, sculptures, vases, desks, even flowers. So distracted they were they didn’t even notice as their grandfather stopped to talk to someone. 

“Lovino! Feliciano!” He called to them, then noticing the young man that was before them. 

He was about their grandfather’s height, waved and messed dark brown hair, gorgeous green shinning eyes, with a youthful but strong and piercing facial structure that had Feliciano awing and wanting to sketch immediately, while Lovino tried hard to hide a blush at how absolutely charming he found him. 

“These are my grandsons! Feliciano,” he introduced first, Feliciano happily going for a hug, jumpy and annoying to Lovino. 

“Awww! So lovable! I already like you,” this handsome stranger smiled in earnest, which only made Feliciano more excited. 

Lovino tried to move his thoughts away from his serene and full voice, giving him yet another shiver of delight. 

Augusto smiled, then moving the other forward. “And my eldest, my heir and the possible future owner of my business, Lovino Valenti.” 

Lovino in turn presented as that very business he was taught to show, only offering a handshake, quite a difference to a younger brother who had gone in and taken him in arms. The stranger had still smiled, taking Lovino’s hand in when Feliciano gave him the space. His hand was large, warm, Lovino couldn’t utter a single word. 

“A pleasure to meet you both. Antonio Fernandez, at your service,” he introduced, gazing into Lovino’s eyes strongly, hypnotized and swayed so much he had dropped the handshake before it could intensify. 

“He is the cleric I was speaking to you both about on the ride.” 

What? No! That could not be possible! Lovino was thinking a mere cook or even a gardener, not a man of religion who would stay in their home simply as guidance. 

“Nonno said you’ll be living with us.” Feliciano didn’t let his excitement dwindle for a second. 

“Yes, I will, at least until I have proven my vocation. I hope to be a proper guest and to always teach about the holy readings in the most respectful manner that enlightens and always help us to choose the right path.” He bowed that moment, a single golden cross hanging from his neck, the only proof of his profession on his wear. “I was going to suggest Sunday Bible readings after mass and then discussion with your grandsons, if you wish,” he commented, which got a roll of Lovino’s eyes, ready to decline.

“That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll make sure my grandsons will attend.” 

Leave it to his grandfather to decide things for him as usual. 

To be respectful, he tried to hide a groan, while Feliciano jumped and clapped his hands. 

“Will you like to join us? I’ll be giving them a tour of the mansion now.” 

“Sure, I’m still trying to get to know this place myself.” 

“Wonderful! Then come along! Come along all!” Augusto led them, eager to show them the kitchen first of all. Antonio let the brothers move first and so they took to their grandfather’s leading. 

“He seems very nice,” Feliciano took Lovino’s arm lovingly, whispering, yet continuously looking back, making himself too obvious about what he was talking about. To prove it so, Antonio waved and Feliciano did so back. 

“I don’t know if to agree with you. I feel like I’ll be annoyed by him at some point,” Lovino made sure to say softer. 

“I really don’t think that’ll be the case. I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun and he can even be a new friend to us. I’m actually excited for the lessons he suggested.” 

As Augusto started talking and introducing the continuing rooms, Lovino didn’t find the chance to reply to Feliciano’s optimism about the new guest. He kept glancing to him, sticking with his skepticism, even as the other smiled and continued to shine as friendly. 

 

It was silent, one that Lovino would have found ideal, but now it was…empty and…weird. 

He thought he would be excited about having his own room, his own bed, his own desk to write and focus, with an amazing view of the garden and the shinning city in the distance to add. But it was just that, silent, practically empty if even his own presence and the flickering candles. He kept looking back, as if expecting his brother to say whatever silly nonsense just occurred to him, or wanting him to talk about his writing or newest reading. He would sigh, having to accept this new loneliness and the true dull of the night. 

Footsteps, suddenly interrupting the somber air, coming near, to his door and it was open, and there was the familiarity of his little brother he had actually missed. 

“Hi, Lovi!” He greeted as every night, jumping upon his bed as custom. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I couldn’t sleep.” 

“And how is coming here the answer to that?” 

“I can’t sleep alone,” he shyly admitted, such a bright innocence in his eyes that was like looking back to a small child. 

Lovino sighed, closing the book he was writing on and putting it aside. He stood and took his usual position to sleep, getting covers and everything, Feliciano doing the same pull to get underneath the blankets as well. They settled as they usually did, as they were back in Naples. 

“We really should start changing this,” Lovino commented silent, to go along the stillness of the night. 

“My room is too lonely!” 

“Your room is right next to mine.” 

“It’s still not enough. I missed having someone to talk to.” Feliciano got even nearer. 

“We can always talk during the day, Feliciano. It’s not like we’re living in different parts of the city or I’m dead.” Even mentioning the word so loosely like this, was still like an echo that brought the wrong reminders, the images they hated having repeated in their heads, Lovino knowing he had to do something to drive themselves away from it before they were succumbed. 

“You can sleep here for tonight but promise me you’ll soon start staying in your own room. Nonno paid a lot of money for this house, you should really start using it and learn to be by yourself…you know we won’t always be with you.” Lovino had learned it the hard way and Feliciano hand long been due to do so as well. 

“I…I’ll try.” There was doubt in his voice, but Lovino focused on trying to sleep. “Even if…” Feliciano wanted to continue to talk as always, “I do know that I won’t always be with you, I still…want to spend anytime I can with you both. When…mamma left, I learned to understand and really use my time. We…never know what could occur that could bring us apart, so to be sure, I…try to get whatever chance I get.” He came much closer, and Lovino couldn’t deny the comfort his younger brother was asking. He wrapped an arm around him, bringing them both close, as they had been used to for several years. 

“Fine…just go to sleep.” 

Feliciano hummed in agreement, eyes shut and settling easy in his arms. “Story…” he chuckled, Lovino groaning. 

“We’re too old for that!” 

“We never are! Come on, were in Valencia! You can’t hide that you’re excited that we’re in the city of the Red Mask!” And Feliciano widened his eyes as if the sun was in all its splendor outside. 

Lovino stuttered, looking away and blushing, all the shields he had raised to keep himself from going on about exactly that crumbling. “I am not going to!” 

“You should tell me the one with the mountain heist in the alps! I think it’s my favorite!” Feliciano was expectant, as if his mere words could already get him to start. 

Lovino’s mouth trembled, wanting to continue to deny him, but another part of him was so anxious for the adventure, for the travel to bring them away from this dull room. 

“Maybe he’ll be able to hear you!” 

“Who?” 

“The Red Mask!” 

Lovino huffed, “it’s not like he goes jumping about our garden normally.” 

“In many of the stories, he does so all around the city! This is still part of the city! He could be right in this house!” 

Lovino rolled his eyes…yet looking out the window for the longest while…as if the breeze could truly be his passing, with the legendary red cape flowing and greeting the night. He gave up, sighing, and beginning. “There was once a mine with so many treasures, with jewels galore that attracted several workers to come, hoping to take their piece. Among those many was the fiendish Prince Louie, who had a dark plan to take it all at the cost of putting all the workers at risk. Word had reached Valencia and the Red Mask decided that he would not let it happen…” 

Feliciano smiled, hummed, and cuddled closer to his brother, eyes closed as he imagined the tale well in his head…as did Lovino. 

 

Antonio had had warmer nights, the breeze today chilling, but the heaviness of his cape and attire did well to shield whatever shiver that could escape. Out of the main activity of the city, his thread was more difficult, especially in the gardens and small trees of what was now the Valenti villa. At least the darkness worked better to keep himself hidden as he swung, skipped, ran, flew and held high across the forest, passing by small villages, raising the height of a hill until he reached a familiar unkept building. It seemed desolated as he intended it to be, over the past years using entrance with a hidden door at the top to make it difficult for any passerby to get in unless they were taught by himself. He fell well without warning, without strain or difficulty, and yet, although all who were there waited for him, they showed no surprise, simply turning to him waiting on his new words. With them just having accepted a new member in their mist, a mysterious, young, blue eyed addition they called to as ‘Hierro’ or the Iron mask, Antonio had lately decree to not let their masks fall until they got to know him better. Although it would be a release to remove it that instant, he kept it, walking forward, accounting all to be there. 

“Good evening and our warmest welcome, mon cher,” Alas would introduce, with a dramatic flare and plentiful pure white feathers to decorate his movement like a flag as he bowed. 

“Did you find anything out?” Hierro instantly asked, in a solemn tone, not wasting time in knowing. 

Of all the people to ask so quickly. 

Antonio sighed, “it’s only been a day, I really wasn’t able to speak to them that much.” 

“Oh, but did you see the house? Was it lovely? I’ve heard it has many beautiful flowers,” Flores excited, clapping her hands and jumping, the flowers in her suit making only clearer her curiosity. 

“He is not there to garden, Flores. We shouldn’t distract him from what we’re really supposed to be talking about,” Inca imposed, wanting instant information as Hierro awaited it still. 

“Did you at least meet the Valenti?” Alas knew was their biggest concern. 

“Yes. Augusto, Feliciano and Lovino Valenti.” 

“That’s it?” Joya was impressed at how little. With their importance, they were expecting a larger family. 

“Yes, it’s only Augusto with his two grandsons.” 

“And you didn’t find anything else?” Oscuro hoped. 

“It was only the first day. We only did a viewing of the villa. I could barely even talk to his grandsons.” 

Sol could notice a small disappointment, but not because of their current mission…there was something else in that tone that was fleeting but she managed to catch. “Do you think they have suspected you?” She wondered aloud. 

“Highly doubt so. They don’t know the city, what’s going on or the people. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be enough to arise suspicion.” 

“You are just An-” Neblina was about to mention, but one look at Hierro reminded that they had to keep their names hidden for now, “-just a boring old clergy man for now.” 

“For as long as I can keep it.” 

“What’s left to do then?” Alas questioned for all. 

“What we have always done. Keep your heads up, protect the city, all those you can and I’ll let you know when the time comes to take the next course of action.” 

They all nodded, beginning to settle off in their own directions, whatever would work best to keep themselves in the dark of the night. Antonio usually waited for all to leave before he took his own, but this time, Sol, Laura, remained by his side, a sign that she wanted to continue to speak of other matters just the two of them. 

“What is it?” Antonio knew well this sign. 

“Just curious,” she smirked. 

“About what?” At least he could relax and smile himself knowing now it wouldn’t be anything serious. 

“One of the brothers has taken your fancy…or I’m mistaken and it has been taking by old man Valenti.” 

Antonio laughed, confident to be able to take off his mask and let the cool air soothe his now free skin. “What made you believe that? I really didn’t speak much about them.” 

“I’ve learned to tell when you want to be friendly.” 

“I’m always friendly.” 

“More than usual.” She was inching closer to something. 

“What? His grandsons were cute. One seemed sweet, the other like he could best me in a fight. It will be exciting to get to know them better.” 

“Could best you in a fight huh?” She teased, ridding of her own mask by now. 

“Yes. He seemed powerful…there was something in the way he shook my hand,” and he smiled in a way Laura knew well. 

“Was he handsome?” 

“Very much so.” 

“Mhm…” she knew, she didn’t have to hear another word…but she did have to warn. “Antonio…remember the mission though…and be cautious.” 

“You know I’ve always been.” 

“Not when attractive Italians are involved,” she laughed, taking her own leave that instant. 

It didn’t give him a chance to respond, standing behind to relax and wonder about her words still. 

He knew well his mission, his goal, and Laura should know well herself how it was hard to break his resolves, especially when it involved a Montaje.


End file.
